


i haven't been here four hours!

by Spitshine



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: AKA, Ann Walker Thirst Machine, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Kissing, Learning Kink, Oral Sex, Period Typical Grubbling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Service Kink, Subspace, author thinks about clothes too much, boot licking, dom/sub elements, fingerbanging, light pain kink, “They” Pronouns for Anne Lister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spitshine/pseuds/Spitshine
Summary: “I suppose I thought... if you're not—occupied, this afternoon, perhaps... now?” She brought a hand up in front of her face, sure she must be scarlet by now. Anne's hand closed around her wrist and tugged it firmly away.~now beta'd~~ many thanks to evil_kneazle!
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> why do i use they pronouns you ask? am i making A Statement about anne's gender?? NO I JUST LOVE MYSELF listen trying to write this ship is fucking torture
> 
> also, hell yeah i am making a statement about anne's gender
> 
> p.s. the only reason i write history porn is to give myself an excuse to use all the em dashes my little heart desires

“Oh, I'm sure you'll be lovely, sweetheart—you've always been marvelous at kissing.”

“No, you have to-” Ann paused, taking a deep breath in to steady her nerves even as she felt her face grow hotter and hotter. “-you have to tell me what to do. How you like it. Will you?” She turned away from where she had her face buried in Anne's shoulder, pulling back just far enough to look Anne in their face, hoping they would take pity and reassure her.

“Well—well, alright then. If it will put you more at ease.” They hummed, considering, and stroked careful fingers down Ann's part, through the fine hairs curling away from her neck. “Did you have any particular time in mind?”

“I suppose I thought... if you're not—occupied, this afternoon, perhaps... now?” She brought a hand up in front of her face, sure she must be scarlet by now. Anne's hand closed around her wrist and tugged it firmly but gently away. She squeezed both eyes quickly shut, holding her breath for the space of one heartbeat before peeking out of a slivered eyelid.

Anne was smiling at her, fond and patient, and brought their other hand up to cradle her cheek. “I can't think of anything I'd rather spend my time on, beloved,” they murmured, stroking down her neck, over the knots tightening her shoulders. “But let me take care of you first, hm? Help you relax.” They slipped one hand into her pocket to grab at her thigh, rough enough to be felt but not quite as rough as she would have wanted, let two fingertips of their other hand dip beneath the edge of her bodice, tracing the sensitive line of her spine.

Ann was agreeing before she quite knew what was going on, nodding and smiling into Anne's kiss—the softest brush to start, leaving her space to breathe or object if she wanted. But that _wasn't_ what she wanted, and she licked hungrily at Anne's bottom lip before scraping her top teeth over it almost as hard as she could.

She felt them freeze, for a second, and then she was on her back, one hand on her shoulder and one on her hips, pushing her into the plush of the mattress; their mouth was on hers, insistent, pressing and biting her lips, her neck. She let out a little whimper, almost a moan, before she could quite contain herself—Anne rumbled a growl against her throat in answer before rolling her, turning her onto her stomach and beginning to work the long line of buttons down her back. Each button was freed with a celebratory little kiss—not that she could really feel anything, still three layers between her skin and their mouth, but still, it was a nice thing to know was happening.

It took ages but eventually they had undone every fussy button. Ann looked over her own shoulder to watch as they undid the tie of her chemisette and loosened her stays with quick fingers. When they finally reached the base of her spine, they looked up to meet Ann's eyes with a sharp, nearly feral grin as they flicked open the three small hook and eyes holding her waistband closed. They repeated their earlier growl as they gave a final, muffled, bite to the very bottom of her back before sitting up enough to ease her bodice and chemisette over her shoulders (only catching on her sleeve plumpers for a moment) and down her arms, and to pull her skirt off; they were gone, hanging the clothes over back of a chair, and back again before Ann quite knew what had happened, flipping her onto her back and boxing her in with their still very clothed arms.

“Anne—darling—oh! Please, can you—mmph...” Ann trailed off, forgetting her plans to disrobe Anne in turn as they licked and nibbled along her collarbones until reaching the safe-to-bruise area of her shoulder and bit down, hard. She gasped and pushed into it, her arms coming up by themselves to tug at Anne's cravat, pulling them closer. One hand stroked her wrist gently, the skin thin and shivery-sensitive, as the other made its deliberate way beneath her heavily corded petticoats to pet at the lacy edge of her drawers. She moaned wordlessly, squirming a bit to open her legs as she arched up, her jaw shut tight but pleading with her body. Anne's hand ventured higher and higher, until she was made abruptly aware of how wet she was—how wet she'd _been_ , for hours and hours now, thinking all morning of what she hoped to do after dinner.

Anne's sure fingers stroked her queer slowly, but without hesitation, two fingertips dipping just inside to tease her where she sweltered with desperation, gathering the slick moisture on their fingers and drawing it up, circling torturously around her opening as Ann tried to hide her bitten-off moans in her arm, in her pillow.

“Let me hear you, darling,” they cooed into her ear as their fingers combed through the soft hair between her thighs. “It's alright, let me hear you.”

Ann opened her eyes, blinked through tear-stuck eyelashes to gaze muzzily up at Anne. “...Hmmm?”

They gently pulled her fingers from her own mouth—she hadn't realized she'd been biting at them—kissed each fingertip softly, and brought the hand up to their own shoulder. “Hang onto me if you need to, sweetling, but don't stifle those noises. I want to hear every little one.”

They undercut their own point a bit, Ann thought, kissing her like that, long and consuming and unbearably tender. More than deep enough to muffle any noises she may or may not have been making, but she wasn't going to point that out to them, not when their hand was back where it belonged, one and then two fingers slipping smoothly inside her, curling and bending and rubbing and thrusting, bringing her to the knife edge with merciful swiftness and keeping her cruelly there for endless moments where she felt frozen, outside of time, whimpering against Anne's mouth, hand twisted into the shoulder of their waistcoat, clenching down on their fingers and circling her hips, searching for more—

—she couldn't have said how long she hung there, panting and desperate, licking and biting at Anne's mouth, whining and needy—until she tumbled over, nearly screaming as it rolled through her, wringing out her muscles and leaving her damp, limp, and gasping for air.

“Mm, that was wonderful, my darling,” Anne murmured as they slipped their hand free and brought it up to her mouth, tracing her lips with damp, wrinkled fingers. She gasped in a deep, steadying breath and they pushed their fingers in to rest against her tongue. Ann _groaned_ , a deep, hungry sound that embarrassed her just to hear it, but she couldn't help herself; she sucked the fingers deeper into her mouth, thrusting her tongue between them to lick them thoroughly clean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was—it was exactly what she wanted, had been dreaming of, for weeks now, working herself up to ask for it, and she had to close her eyes for a long minute, hands smoothing nervously up and down their shins as she rested her forehead against their knee and breathed in and out, deep and slow, one breath, two. Three._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is there a word for snowballing when theres no dicks involved? asking for a friend

Ann wasn't sure how long she floated, fuzzy and content, one of Anne's hands clasped between both of hers as the other combed gently through her sweat-loosened ringlets, but eventually her thoughts came back together and suddenly, she realized—

“You wicked thing!” she laughed. “I was meant to look after you this afternoon. You tricked me!”

“Ah, but I like taking care of you just as well,” they replied with an unsorry little smirk, one eyebrow arching up.

“Yes, but I—I, well, I've been looking forward to this all morning,” she stammered. “I want to, to do for you. Here, stand up, let me help you out of your clothes.”

“You want to do for me, hm? Like a maid?”

“Yes—no, I mean, I certainly hope Eugenie hasn't been... hasn't been, _you know._ My word, I don't know what even to call it! But yes, in a way, I suppose.”

“Not Eugenie, no,” they murmured in an amused drawl that hid just enough for Ann to make a note for herself to ask later about what those other maids had done, those other times, and allowed her to pull them upright and away from the bed.

Ann began to work in silence, biting her lip and focusing on the intricate frogging of Anne's spencer jacket, silken black braid on woolen black twill revealing a black jacquard waistcoat as the toggles slowly but surely came undone. She hung the jacket carefully, smoothing out the shoulders so it wouldn't misshape or wrinkle, and returned to begin unfastening the horn buttons of the waistcoat. It was well-made, the buttonholes a tight fit, and she bit the tip of her tongue to concentrate. When that was done, the buttons of the shirt seemed to go faster—or maybe that was just her own heartbeat—and she folded both neatly over the back of a chair before stepping behind Anne to unlace their stays, the ones she and Marian had helped them make specially to smooth rather than lift their chest.

“Leave the shift, poppet.”

It had been quiet in the bedroom so long, Ann startled at the low sound of Anne's voice, her own wide eyes flicking up to meet theirs. “O-of course, yes, I know. Is there... ahm... anything else I should leave?”

“No, love. Anything else would just get in your way. But thank you for asking.”

She knew what she was there for, of course, but it was—something—to hear them refer to it like that, so baldly, in the clear light of afternoon. It was something, and it made her pulse pound and her fingertips tingle. She managed, somehow, to unwrap the stays from Anne's body and drape them over the waistcoat, wooden busk still in place. 

Stepping close again, she gave Anne a quick kiss, something familiar to boost her courage, but just as quickly remembered the taste of herself was still upon her lips and sank dizzily to her knees to start on their footwear, blood pounding in her ears.

She leaned forward, her own stays—loosened but not unlaced—drooping down her shoulders as she worked the buttons of their left spatterdash, lifting their foot just slightly to pull the stiff felt from their boot. The boot leather was smooth against her hands, warmer than she'd expected, and as she placed it carefully back on the floor—not wanting to jar or unbalance Anne—she bent far forward, mouth dropping open to place a slow, wet kiss on the toe.

The top of the busk dug uncomfortably into her sternum, but an intake of breath so sharp as to nearly be a hiss above her let her know to keep going, so she gave a few more kisses before twisting around to lick up the instep. Her sleeve plumpers fast became a nuisance in the cramped space between Anne's spread feet; she nearly tore them off in her impatience and tossed them over her shoulder as she settled in to kiss and lick her way up Anne's boot—black, of course, and as tall as a man's, covering their leg nearly to the knee. She got all the way to the top and turned her attention to their right foot, one hand unbuttoning the remaining spat as the other slowly kneaded the hard muscles of Anne's left calf.

She repeated the process of lifting, removing, and setting aside and then got her mouth on the now-uncovered boot almost before it hit the ground, her breath whuffing against it in her eagerness. She had to cradle her torso between her thighs to get over the vamp, around the instep, and back to the heel, leaving a trail as shiny as a snail's in her wake. 

She couldn't, of course, see Anne's face from this angle, but she heard the heavy rasp of their breath, felt the twitch of muscles under her touch as she nuzzled her way up their calf to press heavy kisses against the bare skin of their knee where their stockings had slipped down; she surprised herself with her own boldness as she pressed her mouth to that private skin. Her tongue slipped out and she licked a long line up the inside of Anne's thigh, nosing aside their drawers to do so.

“Darling?” she heard them say, though the word sounded peculiar, as if it had traveled a long way through thick fog to reach her ears.

With difficulty, she pulled her face away and sat back on her heels to meet their eyes, which were a little wide and very, very dark.

“I don't want to rush you—this is... lovely, truly. But if I sit down, you can take off my boots.”

Time seemed to pass very slowly—Ann felt herself nodding, heard her own heartbeat marking out the molasses-slow procession of seconds and then Anne was sat on the bed as she tugged the stubborn boots from their feet. One, and then another. Their stockings were gone in another blink, and then Ann saw her own hands moving on a short line of buttons, white horn on white cotton. Anne lifted their hips so the drawers could slide down their strong legs and puddle on the floor, where they came to rest beneath her knees.

It was—it was exactly what she wanted, had been dreaming of, for weeks now, working herself up to ask for it, and she had to close her eyes for a long minute, hands smoothing nervously up and down their shins as she rested her forehead against their knee and breathed in and out, deep and slow, one breath, two. Three.

She let her eyes flutter open and took the best look she could at Anne's queer, half hidden in the shadow of her shift. She'd felt it before, a few times, though Anne had always been more eager to give pleasure than receive it, but always under a skirt or a nightgown, and nearly always through the closed-leg drawers so particular to Anne.

It was like hers, but not, too. The hair a bit darker, the curls a bit coarser, the inner folds, already glimmering with moisture, protruded slightly past the outer, as proud and unashamed as Anne themself. Her hand stuttered up their warm thigh, higher and higher until—without ever quite deciding to do it—her thumb was just tracing the edge, feeling the tremble and the slick humidity of Anne's body. She breathed in, deep, to calm her nerves... which didn't work, of course, the smell of Anne overwhelming and terribly intimate, so close, her head beneath the shift like this, the scent as dense as smoke in the air. They smelled like the first true day of fall with a cup of hot tea in one's hand, soothing and invigorating at once. Salty, and spicy too.

She felt her mouth water and whined in embarrassment, pressing her hot face to the relatively cool skin of Anne's hip beneath the cloth.

“Don't be shy, love. Take your time, but you needn't hide from me.”

A bright light fell on Ann's closed eyelids and she looked up. Anne had their hem gathered in one hand, a fond, indulgent smile on their lips as they looked down at where she kneeled between their feet.

“Are you feeling a bit—nervous?”

She bit her lip and nodded thankfully, hoping Anne remembered what they'd spoken about earlier—her throat had grown suddenly thick and she didn't trust her own voice.

“That's perfectly alright, love. Just kiss my leg, it's no different to kissing my shoulder or my hand, really.”

Grateful for the instruction, she did as she was told, pressing soft kisses in a long line from knee to hip, mouth opening wider and wider as she grew bolder and bolder, tasting the salt of sweat on their skin—they'd been out that morning, overseeing a new road on the estate, and she wouldn't be surprised at all if they'd been hefting rock alongside the men.

Of course, as she came closer to their hip, she was confronted again by her inexperience, and hearing nothing above her but a rattling breath, she moved to the other leg and did the exact same thing on the other side. Her eyes closed of their own accord as she moved up Anne's thigh, shifting slightly on the floor to reach more comfortably. She kissed and licked, wondering if Anne's queer would taste like their skin—or their mouth—or her own queer—and before long, her nose bumped against damp hair, downy and prickly at once.

Her eyes flew open and she stilled, surprised, though she didn't know why. She couldn't see anything, just the vague shadowy shape of Anne's stomach, and as she breathed out slowly, her nerve came back to her. She closed her eyes once more and nuzzled into it, focusing on the smell and the feel of it against her face. Anne moaned, wordless, and then, in a hoarse gasp-

“Kiss it.”

-and she did, mouth closed, feeling the slide of wet skin against her spit-damp mouth, and she couldn't help it, her tongue peeked out from between her lips, and she felt the small, hard thump of Anne's pulse against it.

She heard a quiet, pained hiss above her and Anne's voice saying, “That's good, love, that's wonderful, only use your whole tongue, flatten it out...”

She did as she was told and the words trailed off into a sort of choked burble. She nearly stopped, concerned she was doing something wrong, but then their thigh came over her shoulder and clamped down, pulling her closer to their body, so she kept with it, licking the same path again and again with a wide, soft tongue.

Anne was sopping wet already and dripped against her tongue; she moaned at the taste, feeling the sound rumble through her throat as her own thighs drenched in answer, sticking together slightly as she squirmed there on the floor. She kept licking, greedy with it now, pushing her tongue firmly against them with an undignified slurping, over and over as the weight of a firm hand settled in her hair, reassuring, a warm thumb stroking the shell of her ear.

After what felt like an eternity but not long enough at all, she had to pull herself away, each hand clinging desperately to one of Anne's knees. She shook her head a bit to clear the dizziness and swallowed hard, remembered carefully how to speak. “My... my neck.” Her voice sounded very far away.

“Do you need to stop, darling?”

She turned her face up to meet Anne's gaze, her eyes wide, and shook her head again, hard this time. “N-no! Not stopping. But I have a, a pain—in my shoulder.”

Anne's eyes widened briefly before narrowing in understanding and they edged backwards on the bed, nudging her up and into their lap. They pulled her into an absorbing kiss, deep and wet as Anne's tongue plunged into her mouth like a finger, then pulled back, tracing her lips, lapping the mess off her cheeks and chin. She whimpered drunkenly and slumped against them. She felt small and cradled, helpless and held, and her face pushed hard against their mouth even as her bones all turned to liquid.

Anne's face was red across their ears and cheeks as they lay on their side, pulling their shift up to their stomach with one hand while the other tugged her to lay beside them. “Here, rest your head on my leg, that should help your neck.” Ann settled in, humming with pleasure. She rubbed the broad side of her face against their smooth, sunless skin; she nosed open-mouthed across their thigh, trailed back to the nexus of her focus. “You can—explore a bit, if you like. Use the tip of your tongue like you do your fingertips. I'm sure I'll like it, whatever you do.”

“And if you don't, you'll tell me?”

Her voice sounded high and unpleasantly needy to her own ears, but Anne just agreed, “And if I don't, I'll tell you.”

Ann rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs slickly together as she stretched out on her side on the mattress, feeling suddenly naked despite her own skirts and stays, feeling closer to Anne than she ever had—outside of their little box pew in York, and riding in the carriage beforehand, and walking out of the church afterward. She licked the crease between their leg and their mound, exquisitely aware of how close her queer lay to their face, only a few thin layers of linen and cotton between them.

Anne's upper leg draped over her shoulder as they gave a long, low moan, a shuddering alto sound sinking down into the tenor, their thigh warm and reassuringly heavy across her sore muscles. She licked her lips and leaned in to place a slow, caressing kiss at the top of their queer. Their hair tickled her chin and she kissed them again, a line of kisses up the cleft of them, kiss after kiss with her lips slack and plush. Her whole world narrowed to the places their two bodies touched; her ear, her cheek, her mouth. Her nose. 

She heard words above her, a hushed litany of half-formed moans and burbled praise. One of their hands dug sharply into the skin of her shoulder; the other came to rest heavily on the back of her head, the curve of her neck, urging her closer and closer until her mouth opened to the boiling wetness of Anne, coating her tongue all in a rush.

A low guttural noise came out of her, rumbling her teeth, and her hands dug into Anne's flesh anywhere they could reach—one hand wrapped around the ankle of their prone leg, the fingers of the other grasping and twisting the flesh of their hip, pulling them fully into her. She licked up one side and down the other, back up and down again to where she'd started—Anne's hips began to shake and she repeated the pattern over and over. A crescendo of deep moans and bitten-off words came from the general direction of her knees; she felt their forehead bumping against her thighs as their body twisted and squirmed against the pillows and pressed her tongue more firmly against them, licking everywhere she could reach, licking until the web of muscle beneath her tongue ached and burned.

There was a hitch in the moans as Anne's hand tugged feebly at her ear. Her head popped up, air cold and fresh against her face, and she took in the sight of them. Limp with sweat, chest rising and falling with all the drama of a bird's wing. A song came from them, wordless, tuneless, soft and continuous. “Not done already?” she asked, hearing the pout in her voice, feeling it on her mouth.

“Not done,” Anne agreed. “Move. Here.” The hand not clamped on the delicate flesh of her ear was suddenly in front of her face, strong, blunt-nailed fingers tracing the edge of where they were so drenched and open, up to the top—the bottom?—where the two halves of their queer met and clove together, just beneath the small, firm curve of their arse. “Don't fuck me,” they panted. “Just tease.”

So Ann pointed her tongue and used it to nudge their hand out of the way—their queer closed over her chin and bottom lip—their hand disappeared to clench in the blankets. She kept daintily licking at the thin skin at the base of their cunt, pretending the firm point of her tongue was a fingertip and tracing to and fro on the edge of the little secret place where the wet pink of their queer shaded into just plain skin. She'd done that before, with her real fingers, and she knew Anne liked it.

The heavy leg draped over her back lifted and she nuzzled against their thigh, feeling the way her slick mouth slipped and slid against the small sparse hairs, dragging them this way and that under her cheek. She waited, breath high in her chest, eyes slit nearly closed as she watched them settle, one leg of course still supporting her neck, cradling her head, but the other now propped up in front of her, foot resting in the crook of their opposite knee. She hummed appreciatively as they stilled and she realized how much more room she had to work with and leaned in to place a slow, soft kiss where she'd just been licking.

Another kiss, slower than the first, and another, slower still. She withdrew only far enough to flick her tongue lightly over the same spot, back and forth as their hoarse gasps came louder and louder and finally tumbled over into a full-throated yell.

She gentled her mouth as the tension ebbed from them and they quietened down, but didn't take her mouth off of them. Didn't stop giving them slow, wide licks with her soft, wide tongue, scooping up all the goodness she could get.

A few gentle moments passed this way. Ann felt she floated in a warm pond, weightless, outside of time, outside of the world, perfectly content to daze there for all the future she cared to foresee.

And then firm fingers wound into her hair and she was perfectly content to have her head pulled back sharply, her throat stretched out and vulnerable where Anne's fingertips skated over it, the dip of her collarbone and the drum of her pulse. Her mouth was open and panting already when their first two fingers—the same fingers she'd licked clean earlier—pushed in and she sucked on them automatically, messy and uncoordinated at first, and then, as she slowly got her wits about her, a bit harder. “Good girl,” she heard above her, “good, sweet girl,” but the words were too muted and far away to have anything to do with her, surely.

As her slack lips tightened, the hand in her hair tugged, quick and hard and she found herself again with her mouth in Anne's queer. Her eyelids drifted closed by themselves.

Her mouth was still pursed for suction as her lips closed over the tiny, vulnerable flesh. She kept her teeth gentle, delicately parted, sucked slow and hard like she sometimes did to one or two of Anne's fingers, if they teased her lips too long without kissing her. They gave a deep, desperate moan that reverberated through all of her bones, so she did it again. And again, pushing her face firmly against them. Her nose slipped _into_ them, and she froze—but their voice dropped half an octave and they _arched_ , pressing down on her mouth as their hands—one still in her hair, one hot on the back of her neck—pulled her head closer and closer to them. She let the tip of her tongue push forward between her lips, rubbing gently over the glans of the clitoris, surrounding the spark-filled little bud with sensation. She felt their pulse thudding against her lips, her cheeks and her nose, shuddering through her head to her spine and down her entire body.

She could hardly breathe, her lips closed tight and Anne's queer all but smothering her nose, but she kept sucking and licking and sucking as their legs clenched around her head, the sweat-damp skin of their thighs sealing off her ears and dampening their rising, wordless shouts. She gasped in a spluttery breath and dove in again, grabbing them hard with both her hands and pressing her body as close as she could get to their twisting, trembling one.

Anne's limbs tightened and convulsed beneath her; they nearly threw her but she clung on, working her mouth as well as she could. Their groans were loud even through the muffle of their legs and she pressed her face further into them, relishing the small hurt of their pubic bone grinding so hard against her chin.

Hands pulled at her hair and she moaned at that additional pain, rubbing her slick thighs together. The hands pulled harder and then yanked, tugging her hot face out and up. The air inside the bed's curtains was warm and close, but nonetheless felt cool and fresh against her hot cheeks. Anne's usually competent hands dragged clumsily at her, trying to move her up for a kiss, so she carefully unwound their tangled limbs and sat herself up. She couldn't help the fond smile stretching her chapped, tired lips, but Anne was as impatient as ever and made small, grumpy noises until she leaned down to kiss them, her mouth still as dripping wet as her own cunt, throbbing insistently beneath her skirts.

She kissed them for a minute or two, messier than ever and both of them hungry for it still, and then started to turn shy. She was incredibly, painfully aware of the slick of her face getting stickier and stickier as it dried, and moved as if to get up and wash.

But Anne seemed not to like that idea and pulled her in close to lick her face clean with long, lazy swipes of their tongue, murmuring muted praise she couldn't possibly parse directly into her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i hate to cut them off after a measly three orgasms like this but frankly ive used up all the adjectives in my pantry and i dont think it's socially responsible at this moment in time to make a special trip to the hardware store just to keep farming these humble lemons
> 
> *
> 
> two days after this story takes place:
> 
> “it's my turn to go down on you!”  
> “no it's MY turn to go down YOU”  
> “no it's-”
> 
> you get the picture

**Author's Note:**

> (look i never write my subs as groaning but hot! damn! ann just cant get enough of the taste of her own cunt)
> 
> (or, spoiler alert, any cunt bc as it turns out ann walker is horny on main literally all the time)
> 
> usually for a oneshot like this i'd finish the whole gosh darn thing before posting but times are tough and i thought the people might need some porn to get them through. also like. writing femslash is a lot harder. and i dont know when it will be done (when u comment thats when no presh)
> 
> asstrongasyouthink.tumblr.com


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